breathed to Phyliss.
“What ‘what now’?” Phyliss inquired, scarcely
missing a beat as she scoured the kitchen sink.
“My cousin—Serena,” Judith said, her high forehead wrinkled in worry. “I think she was trying to
call 911. I don’t want to call her back in case she’s
on the line with them. Maybe I should go over to her
house to see what’s happened.”
“You got those Hollywood sinners due in two
hours,” Phyliss pointed out. “Besides, that cousin of
yours is probably in Satan’s clutches. I always said
she’d end up in the hot spot.”
Judith’s gaze darted to the old schoolhouse clock.
It was two on the dot. Friday, October 29. The day
when Bruno Zepf and his Hollywood entourage
would arrive for the premiere of The Gasman on the
following night.
SILVER SCREAM
19
But family came before filmdom. “I’ve still got
some spare time. I’m going to Renie and Bill’s. I don’t
dare call in case she’s tied up on the phone with 911.”
“Keep away from Lucifer!” Phyliss warned as Judith rushed out the back door. “He’ll come after you
when you least expect him!”
Judith was used to her cleaning woman’s fundamentalism. But like Skjoval Tolvang’s obstinacy,
Phyliss Rackley’s religious mania could be tolerated
for the sake of a reliable, thorough work ethic.
Traffic on Heraldsgate Avenue was relatively light
for a Friday afternoon. It was just a little over a mile
from Hillside Manor to the Joneses’ residence on the
north side of Heraldsgate Hill. Six minutes after she
had left Phyliss in the kitchen, Judith was at the door
of her cousin’s Dutch Colonial. So far, there were no
signs of emergency vehicles outside. Judith didn’t
know if that was a good or a bad portent.
When Renie and Bill had moved into their home
thirty years earlier, the doorbell had been broken. Bill
was a psychologist and a retired college professor, a
brilliant man in his field, but not adept at household repairs. The bell was still broken. Judith pounded on the
solid mahogany door.
No one responded. Anxiety mounting, Judith started
to go around to the back but was halted at the corner of
the house by a shout from Renie.
“Hey! Come in. I’ve got this junk all over my
hands.”
Judith returned to the porch. Renie stood in the
doorway, her hands and lower arms spattered with
what looked like the insides of a pumpkin. Bill came
down the hall from the kitchen. His head was covered
20
Mary Daheim
with the same orange clumps and he’d left a trail of
yellow seeds in his wake.
“What on earth . . . ?” Judith began, her jaw dropping. “I thought you had a catastrophe!”
“We did,” Renie replied, moving back to the
kitchen, where she ran her hands and arms under the
tap. “Bill got a pumpkin stuck on his head.”
Judith looked at Bill. Bill shrugged, then took a
towel from the kitchen counter and began to wipe himself off. Judith then looked at what was left of the
pumpkin. It lay on the floor in several pieces. Only the
top with its jaunty green stem remained intact.
Putting a hand to her breast in relief, Judith leaned
against the refrigerator. “Good grief. You scared the
hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” Renie said, rinsing her hands. “I hit your
number on the speed dial instead of 911.”
“Then,” Bill put in, his voice muffled by the towel,
“she punched the button for her hairdresser. By that
time I’d gotten the pumpkin off my head.”
“I don’t suppose,” Judith said slowly, “I ought to
ask why you were wearing a pumpkin on your head,
Bill?”
Removing the towel, he shrugged again. “It was for
your Halloween party tomorrow. I planned to go as
Ichabod Crane.”
Judith shook her head in wonder, then frowned. “It’s
not my party, it’s Bruno Zepf’s. I’m merely catering
the damned thing.”
“I’m helping,” Renie said, looking a trifle hurt.
“That’s why we’re coming, isn’t it? We thought it
would be more fun if we wore costumes like everybody else.”
SILVER SCREAM
21
“What,” Judith asked Renie, “were you going as?
Ichabod’s horse?”
“A tree,” Renie said with a lift of her short chin.
“You know—the scary kind with a twisted trunk and
clawlike branches.”
“Don’t,” Judith advised. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
She glanced at Bill. “One of you already has. I’m
going home now. In fact, I might as well stop at Falstaff’s Grocery on the way to stock up for the party.
Bruno Zepf gave me a list. Some of the items had to
come from specialty stores. I hope he can pay all
these bills.”
“He can,” Bill said, his clean-cut Midwestern features finally free of pumpkin debris. “The man’s
movies make millions. The Gasman may hit a billion.”
“Good for him,” Judith said on a bitter note. “I just
wish he wasn’t staying at Hillside Manor.”
“It’s only two nights,” Renie soothed. “Look at it as
an adventure. A big-time Hollywood producer. Glamorous stars. A famous director. It’ll be like having
Oscar night in your living room.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Judith said, making her
way to the door. “Glad you’re not dead. See you tomorrow night.”
“I’m coming to help at five,” Renie announced. “I’ll
change into my tree suit later.”
“Goody,” Judith said in a lifeless voice. “Maybe I’ll
turn into a pumpkin.”
“Hey!” Bill called after her. “I’m wearing the pumpkin!”
Judith glanced back at the orange glop that littered
the kitchen. “You mean, you were.”
*
*
*
22
Mary Daheim
An hour later Judith arrived at Hillside Manor with
fourteen grocery bags and an entry on the debit side of
her checking account for almost four hundred dollars.
“What are you feeding?” Phyliss asked as she put on
her shapeless black raincoat. “An army?”
Judith gazed at the paper-in-plastic bags and shook
her head. “The problem is, I don’t know how many
will come here after the premiere and the costume ball
at the Cascadia Hotel. Most of the movie people are
staying at the hotel. But Mr. Zepf had one of his staff
members send me a list of what he’d like served at the
midnight supper party. I don’t want to run short. He’s
also been shipping some things that I wouldn’t be able
to find here in town.”
Phyliss gave a toss of her gray sausage curls. “More
money than sense,” she declared. “What’s wrong with
meat and potatoes? As for all this shipping, at least two
more express trucks showed up today. There may have
been anoth
er one, but I was upstairs and my lumbago was
giving me fits, so I didn’t bother myself to come down.”
Judith eyed Phyliss. “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure,” Phyliss answered crossly. “I’ve
no time for all this fancy-pants stuff. It’s gluttony, if
you ask me. That’s one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I
wonder how many of the others they’ll commit while
they’re here.”
Judith winced, and based on past history, hoped
murder wasn’t one of them.
The doorbell rang at precisely five o’clock. By that
time Judith had finished organizing and storing the
groceries. Feeling nervous, she hurried to greet her
first guests.
SILVER SCREAM
23
The middle-aged couple who stood on the front
porch didn’t look much like Hollywood to Judith. In
fact, they seemed more like Grant Wood, or at least his
famous painting of American Gothic. The thin sourlooking woman with her fair hair pulled back in a bun
and the balding gaunt-faced man needed only a pitchfork to complete the image.
“May I help you?” Judith inquired.
“You sure didn’t help us before,” the woman asserted, “so I don’t expect you can help us now.”
The voice sounded familiar, but Judith couldn’t
place it. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. This is a B&B.
Have you been a guest here on a previous occasion?”
“Hell, no,” the man responded in a deep bass. “We
tried, though.”
“We need to find the place where they put us instead,” the woman said. “Some fool sent the directions
to your B&B instead of the one we got changed to.”
“Oh!” Judith exclaimed in relief, noticing what appeared to be a rental compact car out in the cul-de-sac.
“You must be the Izards. Of course, come in, let me
figure out how you can get where you’re going.”
City maps and guidebooks were kept at the registration desk in the entry hall. Walt Izard showed Judith
the address of the substitute inn, which was located
about four miles away, near the zoo. She gave him directions while Meg Izard wandered around the big living room.
“I’d like to check out your place,” she declared, returning to the entry hall. “I want to make sure we’re
not getting cheated in case this other B&B isn’t up to
snuff. We’d stay with my brother, Will, but his place is
too small.”
24
Mary Daheim
“Well . . .” Judith hesitated. “All right, but don’t take
too long. My guests are due at any moment.”
Meg gave a snort. “Movie folks, right? Think
they’re big stuff. Bunch of phonies, if you ask me.”
Judith hadn’t asked, so she didn’t comment. “The
guest rooms are on the second floor. They’re unlocked
at present, but please just take a quick look. I have to
stay downstairs.”
“Will do,” Walt replied in the deep voice that
seemed too large for his skinny frame.
Judith stayed by the front door, but the phone rang
just as the Izards disappeared around the corner of the
second landing.
It was Alice Kidd, the wife of the other displaced
couple. “We’re at Cozy Fan Tutte,” she said, “and I
wanted to let you know it’s not nearly as nice as Hillside Manor.”
Judith knew the establishment, which was located
north of the university. It was a veritable stately mansion, Georgian in design, and featured amenities not
possessed by Hillside Manor, including a sauna and a
whirlpool.
“That’s very kind of you,” Judith said, hearing the
Izards’ footsteps overhead. “I’d love to have you come
to Hillside Manor again. I can’t say how sorry I am
about the inconvenience.”
“I suppose,” Alice Kidd said in a slightly wistful
voice, “the filmmakers have been given a warm welcome.”
“They’re not here yet,” Judith replied, jumping
slightly as the back door banged open. “Excuse me,
Mrs. Kidd, but someone has just arrived. Remember us
the next time you visit the area, and enjoy your stay.”
SILVER SCREAM
25
Clicking off, Judith saw Renie charge out of the dining room. “I’m here. Where’s Hollywood?”
“They’re late,” Judith noted, glancing at her watch,
which told her it was almost five-fifteen. “They probably got stuck in Friday rush-hour traffic coming from
the airport.”
“Probably,” Renie remarked, opening the oven. “No
appetizers?”
“No guests,” Judith said. “I’ll wait until they arrive.
Hey, what are you doing here? I don’t need help until
tomorrow night.”
“Yes, you do,” Renie insisted, pointing a finger at
her cousin. “You’re already twitching. You’re agitated,
uneasy, even a little scared. Hollywood descends upon
Hillside Manor. You have to be nervous.”
“I guess,” Judith admitted, “I am.”
“So,” Renie said, extending her arms in a gesture of
goodwill, “I’m at your disposal.”
“But what about dinner for Bill and the kids?” Judith inquired.
“Incredibly,” Renie said, removing a can of Pepsi
from the fridge, “Bill informed me that the kiddies are
making dinner tonight. Very brave of them.”
“It would be,” Judith said dryly, “if they were still
kiddies. But since they’re all in the thirtysomething
range and still living at home . . .”
merely a bit slow to develop a sense of independence.”
“Leeches,” Judith said under her breath as footsteps
emanated from the front hall.
Renie looked startled. “Who’s that? Is Joe home already?”
“No,” Judith replied, heading out of the kitchen. “It’s
26
Mary Daheim
my ex-guests, the ones I had to cancel to make room for
the movie people. Hang on while I say good-bye.”
Renie, however, wandered out behind Judith, but
stopped in the archway between the dining room and
the entry hall. The Izards were at the door, city map in
hand.
“This place isn’t too bad,” Meg Izard allowed.
“Maybe next time we come through here, you’ll actually let us stay.”
“I hope so,” Judith said, not quite truthfully.
Walt Izard opened the door. “Lousy weather,
though.” He gestured outside. “It’s started to rain. Does
it really rain here all the time?”
“Often,” Judith answered, this time with honesty.
“Especially this time of year. Windy, too,” she added.
“Halloween weather, all right,” Meg said with a grimace. “That’s too bad. I hoped we’d have some sun to
celebrate our silver anniversary.”
“Drive safely,” Judith cautioned, moving closer to
the Izards in an effort to get them out of the house and
into their compact rental. “These streets can be slippery when—”
She stopped, staring into the cul-de-sac as a pair of
limos glided to the curb.
“Well, well,” Meg Izard muttered, �
�here come the
rich and famous. Let’s get out of their way, Walt. We
wouldn’t want to give them any just-plain-folks
germs.”
Judith was too flustered to protest. As the limo doors
were opened by their drivers, a third car pulled up and
stopped in front of the Steins’ house at the corner.
“Hey,” called one of the other drivers as a diverse
group of people began to emerge from the chauffeur- SILVER SCREAM
27
driven cars, “will somebody move this crate?” The
young man gestured at what Judith assumed was the
Izards’ rental.
Both Meg and Walt froze momentarily on the
threshold. “Big-shot bastards,” Walt muttered. “To hell
with ’em.”
But Meg had already started for the car. With an annoyed shrug, Walt followed his wife. The couple drove
away as Arlene Rankers appeared from the other side
of the hedge and the first of the celebrities made their
way toward Hillside Manor.
Although at least a half-dozen people were approaching the front porch in styles ranging from a
brisk trot to a languid lope, Judith’s gaze was fixated
on just one man, who held a cell phone to his ear: He
was almost bald, with a short grizzled beard and a fireplug build. What little hair he had left had grown out
and was tied with a black ribbon into a thin, foot-long
ponytail. His cheeks were pitted with old acne scars,
and while his movements were controlled, energy exuded from him like sparks from a faulty toaster. Judith
realized that she recognized him from casually
glimpsed photographs. He was Bruno Zepf,
megaproducer and Hollywood legend-in-the-making.
“Mr. Zepf,” Judith said, putting out her hand.
“Mr. Zepf,” echoed Renie and Arlene, who had
joined Judith on the porch. Renie looked as if she were
trying very hard not to be impressed; Arlene appeared
close to bursting with unbridled gush.
Zepf clicked off the cell phone and zeroed in on Judith, his shrewd blue eyes narrowing a bit. “You’re
Mrs. . . . Flynn?”
“I am.” To her horror, Judith dropped a slight curtsy.
28
Mary Daheim
“Welcome to Hillside Manor,” Arlene burbled, grabbing the hand that Judith had just released. “This is a
wonderful B&B. This is a wonderful neighborhood.
This is a wonderful city.” She lowered her voice only a
jot. “That’s why we’re thinking of moving.”
Judith and Renie were used to Arlene’s contradictions. Judith flinched, but Bruno apparently hadn’t